[oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise]

[homelovefamily]

It's been over a week since Anya has seen Gleb. Pushkin has seen him though, evidence of Gleb's quiet coming and going from her apartment when she's not been there is able to be found if one really looks for it. And she has looked for it. She searched for notes, for some sort of sign that he wants to see her, even a little. That hope quickly faded as the days passed. Things in the elevator had been left too broken, too heavy. She doesn't blame him for avoiding her, but she doesn't want it to on for forever.

This past weekend had been illuminating, the bright colors, the variety of human relationships and people all on display. That had been freedom, that had been hope. Anya had felt twinges of awkwardness as she had inquired as to the various meanings of different colored flags. To say that what she had learned had been illuminating would be gravely misrepresenting it.

It had offered her hope.

A possibility, albeit a faint one, glimmered just in sight, and hopefully not out of reach. A flexibility that she had not previously known.

However none of that mattered if he wouldn't even look at her. She had to speak to him, had to explain what she had said that day, what she felt. If he wasn't going to come to her, then she was going to come to him. So on Monday she had started hanging out in the lobby of his apartment building, loitering there in her free time on the hope to see him. By Tuesday she'd come to sit in a chair there, taking the elevator a few times on the hope that she would encounter him. Today she's done away with any of that pretense and is waiting outside his door, loudly conversing with his neighbors as they pass by.

She knows he can hear her.

Eventually she comes to stand against the door, pressing her ear against it as she knocks. "Gleb, please come out," she pleads with him through the door. "I'm not leaving until you let me explain."

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[homelovefamily]

A soft sigh escapes her as his hand touches her cheek. A precious thing that she had assumed to be lost has now been found. Warmth floods her body, frothy and light, making her feel a bit like she could be lifted right off the ground if it weren't for his arms around her, his mouth on hers. It isn't the passionate, rushed embrace of their last kiss. Anya isn't chasing after something that she is desperate not to lose. She isn't looking to hold onto something that is already gone. This is a softer, gentler kiss. Nothing like this had happened before they arrived in Darrow, nothing remotely close to it. It never really occurred to her.

Now that she knows this feeling, knows Gleb beyond a uniform and a boy on the other side of a fence during a dark time, she doesn't want to forget it. There is no rush in this. No hasty cataloging of his touch, of her mouth on his as she opens it slightly for him, cards her hand in his hair, feels his stubble against her skin. Time breathes in this kiss, soft and certain, assuring of others that will be next.

Her parents always assured her that she would have love. They let her sisters have their romances even as the walls closed in around them. Love is a light, a guiding force. It undid them all in the end. After the darkness cut her off from her past, there was just that promise of love, of family, of belonging that kept her warm as she trekked across Russia. It wasn't romantic. It was a place to rest her head. That is what Gleb is. Something scary and safe and unknown all at once. A person who will let her rest at last.

[butstill]

It's easier than it likely should be to kiss her like this. In a way, that's always been the case, but Gleb is more acutely aware of it now. That first morning she turned up on his doorstep after he made a confession that he hadn't known she would remember, he'd been so caught up in the unexpectedness of it and the chance to act on what he'd kept so long buried that he hadn't needed to give it much thought, acting then on an impulse that he wouldn't have even known he had. This is different — still anchored, perhaps, in the same sort of desperate longing that he's carried with him for so long where she's concerned, but a quieter form of it now, neither sharp and sudden and fueled by some living nightmare nor with the simplicity that followed, when he didn't know he was going to lose her. There's a weight to this, a significance, but a certainty, too. It doesn't need to happen all at once. She's chosen this, and he may not know why, but he won't question it.

Even if he wanted to, he doubts he could. Her arms around him are like an anchor; her fingers burn where she touches him, as if to mark him as hers the way he knows he is. He feels cut open and bled dry and healed all at once, and all because of her. One person shouldn't have so much power. There's an irony in the fact that she does now, that he's given it to her like this, that he would do so over and over rather than try to cut himself off from her. If that were ever an option, he would have been able to do so a long time ago. He's well past that point now.

He doesn't know how long he stays there, lost in her and a kiss that's both soft and intent. Certainly it can't be very long, but in those moments, the rest of the world is shut out and nothing else matters, and it might as well be a lifetime. If this was all he ever got from her, he could be content with that. Already it's more than he expected, both at the start and after thinking he'd lost her for good. Instead, for a moment, a part of him wants nothing more than to draw back just enough to ask her to stay, improper and startling a thought as that is. It might even seem worth acting on if not for the part of him that still doesn't quite know where they stand. This is a beginning, not a continuation. They can't just ignore the last few weeks. He knows she wouldn't lie to him about something like this, but a part of him still can't help but wonder what might happen when Dmitry enters the picture again, and that in itself would keep him from rushing forward, no matter how right it might feel in the moment.

That much, he buries, dismissing it as out of place and inexplicable. He shivers a little as, finally, he draws in a deep breath. "I choose this, too," he says, perhaps belatedly, perhaps needlessly. He chose her in Paris, even if Anya standing before him now didn't experience that herself; he chose her on a relived night in Yekaterinburg, over and over until he died in her arms. It seems unlikely that anything would prompt him to want to make a different choice now. "I always will."

[homelovefamily]

It should require more for them to be stitched back together. Love is enough, she believes that to be true, especially when coupled with trust and faith. When Anya had come to stand in his lobby on her birthday, she hadn't expected it to take three days to get him to open the door, to let her in, to start to say what they both needed to say.

In stories, the hero is saved by the heroine's kiss. This isn't the same, but the revival feels right. They are both awake after a nightmare, only this time no one died in the night.

What happens next is a mystery, but she knows that she wouldn't have to carry on alone. Won't have to mourn something that barely had a chance to exist. They are getting their chance back. Perhaps it isn't quite in the same shape as before, but she wants to believe that they are better for it. She doesn't know what will happen if or when Dmitry speaks to her again. That thought feels a little sour in her mouth as it has been over a week and she hasn't seen him either. Work is an excuse that only goes so far. She cannot be the one who begs him to find her for forever. Her pride is too much for that.

Breathing deep to steady her heartbeat, to cool her blood after such a kiss, she nods as she smiles up at him. "I know. Please never doubt that I know and care," she assures him as she affectionately rakes her nails against the base of his skull. Laughing softly she shakes her head. "I didn't think getting you to talk to me again would end like this."

[butstill]

Gleb exhales, slowly and just a little unsteadily, at the way she touches him, his chin ducking so he can rest his forehead against hers. She's as beautiful as she's ever been, and this still feels a little surreal, like if he moves away, something might break and the two of them might be left in the position he'd thought they were in. It was strange enough the first time, when she showed up at his door after some bizarre relived night from their past, but in a way, it made sense, too. He hadn't ever expected that she would return his feelings, but there'd been no seemingly concrete proof that she didn't, only a few moments into which he tried not to read something more. Now they've been apart for weeks, and this last one in particular has been agonizing, filled with things he was sure were true that she's now negated. No matter how much he believes her, trusts her, it's hard to shake that. For her, though, to have even a chance of being with her again, it's worth it to try. He would be a fool not to, and genuinely so this time, not just assuming as much based on a few misinterpreted statements.

"Neither did I," he says quietly, the words coming out on what's nearly a laugh of his own, just a bit shy of one. "I think this is the last thing I would have expected." He doesn't know precisely what he thought would have happened instead; he hadn't gotten as far as considering that, too intent on staying away from her to try to give some wounds a chance to heal. He's beyond grateful now for her persistence, enough to put on hold any lingering questions he might have. With the tangled, messy state everything was left in when he last checked, he doesn't want to ruin this peace by asking what this means for her feelings for Dmitry.

He kisses her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "I'm glad you came."

[homelovefamily]

Her eyes flutter shut, her entire body stilling, breathing slowing as she feels his kiss on her temple, her cheek, and finally the corner of her mouth. She doesn't want to move, doesn't want to jinx it. For this moment it feels as if the world is spinning around them. They are the fixed point, an axis. Moving might shattered the fact that coming here wasn't a mistake. That three days had been worth the wait and the questioning stares from him neighbors.

She has no idea what she will do with Dmitry, what is to be done about that pain and confusion. But one burden has lessened for her. Breathing has becoming easier once more.

"I just wanted you to look at me again." Opening her eyes, it is her turn to look. To memorize the expression his face, still smiling as she does. "I'm glad that I came. I wish we didn't have to do this to start with."

But wishing won't take it all back, won't wipe memories away. She doesn't know if she truly wishes to banish them, just wishes that they had never felt this pain at all.

[butstill]

"So do I," Gleb says, nodding solemnly when he lifts his head to look at her again, absently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. The words come unbidden, but he supposes there's no sense in pretending they aren't true. Of course he wishes they hadn't had to do this at all. That afternoon, the last time they spoke, was excruciating. There's no turning such things back, but if he could, he would, if only because he knows now that he's spent all this time believing things that weren't true, that what she said wasn't what he thought it meant. Before, it was painful but necessary, a sharp jolt back to reality after he let himself get so caught up in the impossible fantasy of loving her. That doesn't seem so impossible anymore. They've had so much heartache just to apparently find their way back to each other, and he isn't sure what the point was.

He'd do it all again, though, without hesitation, if it meant winding up here with her. There are so many things he should say or ask, and he knows they can't just act as if nothing has happened, as if there weren't a rift between them for so many weeks. Picking up where they left off wouldn't do any good, when where they left off was her telling him that she loved someone else. She's here now, no matter what her reasons for that may be. He won't take that for granted.

"But you're here now."